


Leptosporangiate

by properlycolorful



Category: Freakish (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-01-20 05:13:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12425730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/properlycolorful/pseuds/properlycolorful
Summary: Reality has never bent to a person's will, but Barrett and Grover learn differently.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> I really love this friendship. I think it's the only reason I'm still watching this horrible, inconsistent, and sloppy TV show. Oh, and Diesel. 
> 
> Anyway, I wrote this as if they find each other again--alive, of course. And Barry internalizes all of his feelings. I'm definitely making one for Grover. This BROTP is too seismically important. It's the only thing they did right. I'm still waiting on them to kill Zoe off.

"Gr—Grover?" Barry shakes and stumbles in the other man's grip, leaning into the blurry form in front of his eyes.

He can't believe what he's seeing, what is entirely illogical, and yet... _righ_ t. It's almost unfair how implausible the situation really is—but it doesn't matter because it just feels so... _good_ . He knows it's not ethical, he knows he shouldn't have this. Honestly, he knows he doesn't deserve this, him... or _them_.

The time he spent getting to know them... his _friends_ —and he doesn't even know if he can call them that though they were definitely _something_ in his time of knowing them.

He struggles with that idea of people... of people being worth it. Worth his time. Worth his effort. Worth his space. Worth... _him_.

Barry never really considered his own worth and he guesses... he doesn't have any in anybody's eyes. He would never be worth it. At least, that's why he doesn't bother. How could he bother to think about something when he's never met anyone who would really try? People never want to be around him... though he doesn't blame them and it's not something he truly cares about anymore, but it's the reason why he doesn't bother. Thinking about his worth, Barry can never truly finish. He doesn't have worth... at least not in the way he used to think he did.

He was smart, technical, practical, and ambitious. Succeeding before anyone around him ever did, he was a genius. An Einstein.

Yet... none of that really matters, does it? He's smart, technical, practical, ambitious... and alone. It's fine to be alone when you don't need anyone when everything in life moves _around_ you and not _with_ you — and that's how it always realistically is—but then.. it begins to _bother_ you. It's like an itch you can't scratch... so he doesn't. He doesn't push that thought, that feeling, but now... with the apocalypse looming over the edge...

It matters.

You need someone to help you. You need someone to talk to. It's a state of madness where loneliness leaves you at the end of the world, and you lose yourself, but it's like... this... has saved him, in some way. Barry doesn't deserve that, shouldn't deserve that, and he didn't want it... _yet_ , he got it. Somebody on his side. Somebody who believes in him. Trusts him. _Likes_ him.

Then... he _lost_ it. Over and over again.

And, you know what? He wanted it back.

Barry never really seemingly fit into anything or anyone. People flowed around him, without him, and didn't need him. Then, suddenly, they all did. Every _single_ one, at some singular, molecular level... but it was fleeting. Emotions and connections were fleeting and he couldn't, _can't,_ handle that.

He didn't deserve anyone, especially not Zoe... or Grover.

Grover was as incapable as any other idiot in that school. He was a simple mind and an average individual with little to no critical thinking skills, but it didn't matter. That shouldn't matter. Grover was a great person, a necessary ally, and... well, his first friend. Barry wanted _, needed_ , Grover to be okay. He couldn't lose him. Not him. Not after everyone. Not after reaching for that... for that feeling of someone beside you, believing in you, trusting in you, and not being... _alone_. After letting himself settle in, he finally, seemingly fit with someone else. He just felt so in place, so burrowed into reality, as if he nestled into some... groove of some sort and he needed that. He wanted that.

He wanted Grover to be okay.

The blurry form in front of his eyes sharpens gradually, and soon his friend's hand moves from his shoulder to his neck, and it doesn't take Barry long to figure that it's real — it's actually Grover. "Barry, Barry, hey! Are you okay?" He hears.

Grover shakes him in his hands, looking at him with big, brown-eyed concern, as he darts his head around in cautiousness.

"Yeah, yeah," Barry answers, trying not to smile, but a dip curls into his cheek anyway, "I'm—I'm _fine_. We need to get out of here."

Grover smiles back, letting out a laugh of relief after he takes his arm over his shoulder. Before heading off into the fog, he looks at him again and Barry can't help but share the same reaction. He doesn't deserve this, and neither does Grover, but it's happening anyway — this fictitious happenstance.

It's like reality is bending, curling away from his palm, and he never tries to shake off the grin unraveling on his face.

Barry will just let it be.

 


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to. It wasn't complete without it.

"Gr—Grover?" Barry shakes and stumbles in his grip, seemingly leaning to get a closer look at what seems so... _unreal_.

It doesn't make sense, right? Grover tells himself. _There's no way reality would be this kind to you after everything your parents have done—_ you've done. He could lie to himself and let himself believe that he wasn't _really_ at fault, but everyone, including his own _freaking_ mind, knew the truth.

His... _friends,_ his own sister, his neighbors, and his classmates, Grover never deserved to know those people. He believed himself to be this lucky guy, always falling into the hands of the universe, but it was all just tinkered, wasn't it? His luck, his destiny, his fate—whatever you want to call it—that was all aligned to the drum of his parent's song, to the course of his parent's direction.

He's been so lucky all his life.

 _Even with Violet,_ he thinks.

Grover had been so lucky to have met her—to have even crossed paths with her in any way. To have loved her—at all—was just unfair and wrong in every way and in no way was he deserving. He killed so many people— _his_ dad killed so many people, so many lives... lost... _just_ like that. Viciously, violently, _selfishly,_ it all just happened. People just... _died_. Each and every single one at the hands of his... father, the guy who... who _looked_ him in the eye... and _loved_ him at the same time and—

Grover hates himself.

He hates himself so much.

And for just a second, just a moment in his life, he didn't. He didn't have time to hate himself. There was a direction there... away from his father... closer to himself, you know? Away from all of those feelings, all of that turbulence inside of him, just itching for a sense of meaning, for a sense of understanding. He was finally away from all of that and... just _closer_ to focus— _sharper._ For just a few minutes, a few seconds, Grover could _see..._ something worth fixing.

He had that—and he had _it_ with Barry.

Barry was a stuck-up, egotistical, often right, but annoying cyber-head. Grover didn't hate him before, but... well, he couldn't care for him. He was just a part of the team, a crucial _part_ but not a memorable one, and so Grover never was against, for, anything—he was always in neutral with the brainiac. How could be bothered to get to know someone so intent on not bothering to know anyone else? He was just there, flowing around, but never in between.

Then, he told him the truth—he showed him everything, hid nothing, and displayed no mercy. Grover could laugh thinking about it, but he's not sure he feels sane doing so. He feels insane _instead_... all of the time now... especially with the world so far away. He feels so disconnected, but then... _Barry is here_. Some sort of strange, distant brainiac with no qualms about shoveling through piles and piles of dirt to find the small piece of gold that he's looking for. His last concerns were _who you are, what you did,_ and _how you got here_. He couldn't care about the blood on Grover's hands when all he wanted to do was just... _fix_ it—

With _him_.

He doesn't know if he was just settling, if he was just clinging to the last hope of consistency in his life that he had, but Grover didn't care. Grover shared it anyway. He shared that same desperation to just... hold on tight to whatever is close, whatever is familiar, and whatever is true. Barry was his one constant thing, _you know?_ A friend, he thinks.

He shared that one moment, that one semblance of—of focus, of understanding, of hope, with Barry. He shared it _all_ with him... and he fit so... _naturally_ next to him. No one is taking that away from him— _not again—not_ the one person who he could stand by, who he felt he could rely on because there weren't conditions with him. It wasn't a list of just... horrible mistakes scattered in his mind. Barry only ever had one thing on his mind:

_Are you in or are you out?_

He feels so lucky to have had that—and this time he considers that luck, not something his father could have ever given him really, because Barry operated on a separate mind _thing_ than anyone else. Barry is unconditional... in a very strange, unusual, and unorthodox way. _Nearing a sociopath,_ Grover thinks.

He is the closest thing to home—and Grover is never letting that go... _ever._ He's here for life. Finding himself burrowed neck deep in the soil, Grover is staying.

The blurry form in front of his eyes sharpens gradually, and soon he moves his hands from his friend's shoulder to his neck, and it takes Grover a while to accept the film playing against his eyelids—that it is actually him... _his_ friend. "Barry, Barry, hey! Are you okay?" Grover almost shouts but fights against it in fear of anyone hearing.

Instead, he shakes him in his hands, looking at him with uncontrollable concern and worry—and just a million different things—as he scans the room around him as a measure of security.

"Yeah, yeah," Barry answers, before that same signature dip curls into his cheek, "I'm—I'm _fine_. We need to get out of here."

Grover smiles at him, puffing out a laugh he hadn't known he had been holding, after he takes his arm over his shoulder. Before heading off into the fog, he looks at him. He faces Barry until Barry faces him. It's as if they share the same reaction. He doesn't deserve this, and neither does Barry, but it's happening anyway—this selfish, unfair chance at reality.

It's like reality is turning, moving around his palm, and he never tries to shake off the gleam in his eyes.

Grover will just let it be.

 


End file.
